


take it fast or make it slow

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Getting Together, M/M, hockey fights as a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: In other words, what happens is: JT lends Tyson his phone charger, and when he goes to get it from Tyson’s room, he knocks on the door and Tyson doesn’t respond, so he opens the door, and he sees—Uh.
Relationships: J. T. Compher/Tyson Jost
Comments: 59
Kudos: 413





	take it fast or make it slow

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> thanks to everyone who helped beta this (tj and scout ages ago, kip and rachel once i finally got around to finishing it). also thanks to everyone on twitter who helped me figure out how to tag this. you're all heroes. 
> 
> i think the accidental voyeurism tag covers it in terms of content warnings. title from carly rae jepsen's 'hurt so good'.

JT would very much like it if this wasn’t a thing.

Or, technically, it’s Tyson’s thing, not his, but now that JT knows about it, it feels like it’s sort of his thing too. Not the same way it’s Tyson’s thing, of course, but just— a thing. That he knows about. And has to deal with. 

In other words, what happens is: JT lends Tyson his phone charger, and when he goes to get it from Tyson’s room, he knocks on the door and Tyson doesn’t respond, so he opens the door, and he sees— 

Uh. 

He can’t really think too much about what he sees, because if he does, he’s probably gonna like, explode, or maybe die. It’s a whole lot of Tyson, for sure, and, like—  _ all  _ of Tyson. His legs, and his stomach, and that’s not to mention his obscene fucking mouth. His lips are parted, and his head is tilted back, and JT can see his lashes resting high on the very red skin of his cheeks. 

And then there’s the whole situation with his dick, which is hard and maybe a little wet with precome, and JT should  _ not  _ be looking, he knows it, but… it’s right there, and he’s only human, so his eyes linger for, like,  _ one _ second. One very long second, but. Just one. 

“Fuck,” Tyson says, scrambling to cover up, and JT immediately wants to set himself on fire, but he settles for turning around and slamming the door behind him instead. 

He presses his back against it, breathes heavily for a few seconds then loudly says, “I knocked.” 

“I didn’t hear you,” Tyson’s voice calls back, and JT can hear ruffling sounds through the door. 

“Clearly,” JT says, mostly under his breath. He clears his throat. “I was just gonna get my charger.” 

“You couldn’t have waited?” Tyson says, and JT turns around right as Tyson opens the door. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his face still looks pink, but JT tries not to stare, mostly because Tyson looks kind of pissed.

“I thought it was safe to enter,” JT says, making a beeline for where his charger is plugged into a socket on the opposite wall, and he’s gonna just, like, grab it and go, maybe hop in the shower and try not to think about this whole thing, but then he looks up, sees Tyson’s laptop open on the bed, and he just— glances. 

And then he looks at the screen for a second. 

And he blinks. 

Slowly, he starts to ask, “What were you—” 

“Nope,” Tyson says, cutting him off. He grabs his laptop off the bed and slams it shut, clutching it to his chest; his face is dark with humiliation, and he looks sort of furious, and JT wants to apologize, except that definitely wouldn’t help the situation. JT should probably just shut up and go, really. 

Apparently, his feet and mouth disagree. 

“Hockey fights?” he asks, and he’s surprised that his voice sounds as steady as it does. Nothing else about him feels at all steady.

Tyson glares at him, which isn’t super effective, because Tyson’s maybe the least intimidating guy JT’s ever met. It would actually be sort of a cute look, if JT didn’t actually kind of care about whether or not he’s fucking up their friendship beyond repair. 

“It’s not—” Tyson starts, then cuts himself off. “Look, whatever. We never speak of this again, okay?” 

“No shit,” JT says, not sure why he’d asked in the first place, and then, before he can say anything else weird or think about any part of what just happened, he walks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Tyson to do whatever he wants in the privacy of his own room. 

JT tries very hard to put the whole thing out of his mind, and he’s mildly successful, except for the fact that he thinks about it in the shower, then thinks about it later that night, then he has a dream about it and wakes up having to think about it first thing in the morning. 

…… 

The next thing is also not on purpose, for the record. 

JT’s not exactly known for being a physical player, but— he plays hockey, alright? He’ll drop gloves when the situation calls for it, and this situation calls for it. It’s kind of stupid, but that’s the sport. You stick up for your man, and you don’t back down from a challenge, and, when it comes down to it, you try not to get beaten too badly. 

It’s an embarrassing fight, over before anyone can really throw a punch, and JT mostly just hangs onto the other guy’s jersey until the refs break it up. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to fight, definitely isn’t looking for it, and even though he’s thinking about the Tyson thing, he’s not, like,  _ thinking  _ about it. If anything, he’s thinking about how he  _ shouldn’t _ fight, because then Tyson might  _ think  _ that he’s thinking about it, and that could make things even weirder, and they’re already so fucking weird. 

But really, considering the circumstances, who can blame him if he happens to look at Tyson as he’s being escorted to the penalty box? 

He can’t see his face, which is either fortunate or unfortunate. He definitely wants to know what it looks like, but he also definitely shouldn’t, because he doesn’t think any reaction he’ll have to Tyson’s reaction is something he wants to acknowledge. But Tyson’s definitely having some kind of reaction, because he’s staring at center ice, where the fight had taken place, mouthguard dangling from his mouth, stick trailing carelessly behind him. JT would very much like to know what he’s thinking right now, wants to pick apart his brain and find out if Tyson’s thinking about the other night, if he’s thinking about this fight in the same way he thinks about others, if there’s something about JT that changes that for him, but even if he could see Tyson’s face, he wouldn’t be able to read all that from it. He’d barely be able to skim the surface.

JT’s pretty sure Tyson doesn’t see him looking, but he picks up JT’s helmet and hands it off to the ref, who skates it over to the box. 

The next five minutes are some of the longest minutes JT has ever experienced, but after that, the game passes in a blur. 

……

Tyson locks himself in his room the second they get home, and JT walks past his door to brush his teeth, then to go to the bathroom, then to wash his face, then to go downstairs and grab a snack because he’s kind of hungry, then to brush his teeth again. 

So, he’s basically pacing in the hallway, but with plausible deniability. 

Of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed, and Kerf sends him a text telling him to go for a fucking walk if he’s so antsy, so instead of replying to that, JT just takes a deep breath and knocks on Tyson’s door. 

His mind is going a mile a minute as he waits for Tyson to answer, trying to think up excuses, wondering if this is the most pathetic thing he’s ever done, but as seconds pass, it becomes obvious that Tyson’s either not coming to the door, or is taking a bizarrely long time to do so. 

Maybe he’s asleep. It’s late, they played a game earlier, and JT’s eyelids are starting to feel heavy, so— JT should just. Go. Leave this alone. Pretend he never had the weird impulse to knock on Tyson’s door late at night because he can’t get over the way Tyson’s stupid shiny eyes looked against his flushed cheeks. Maybe he can just go to bed, let idle thoughts pass through his mind and not do anything about them, and decide, once and for all, to stop letting this fuck things up. 

He knocks again. 

This time, he listens for a response, hears rustling on the other side. “What?” 

“It’s me,” he says. 

More rustling, and then, a few seconds later, Tyson opens the door. He’s wearing a shirt this time, but JT can still see the gentle curve of his arm muscles, and his thighs are tugging on the fabric of his boxers. It makes JT’s mouth a little dry, even though it’s obvious that Tyson hadn’t been up to anything besides lying in bed, maybe fucking around on Instagram or something. But still, it feels… intimate, maybe, and it reminds JT of— 

Well. 

“What do you want,” Tyson says flatly. 

“I—” JT swallows, thinking on his feet. He definitely thought up some half-assed excuse for this at some point. “I think I left a sweater here.” 

“When?” 

“I don’t know,” JT says. “Can I look for it?” 

“Right now?” Tyson says, more than a little irritated, which is probably fair, because it’s pretty fucking late, and JT’s pretty sure they both know he doesn’t actually need to be doing this. 

“Yeah, sorry,” JT says. “I’ll try to be quick.” 

Tyson just looks at him, shrugs, and steps back so JT can come in. 

He shuffles through a pile of Tyson’s clothes halfheartedly, not really sure what the fuck he’s doing, but Tyson seems a little more awake and a little less annoyed now, so JT rolls with it. 

“So,” JT says, trying to sound casual, probably missing by a couple miles. “How’re you?” 

“I mean, fine,” Tyson says. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, and JT tries not to stare at his calves. “What about you? You’re the one who— y’know.” 

“Oh, you mean the—” JT awkwardly mimes punching, and he comes dangerously close to saying the word ‘fisticuffs’, but thankfully, manages to avoid it. 

“Yeah, that,” Tyson says.

JT’s pretty sure he’s blushing, but he can’t tell when the only thing illuminating the room is the light flooding in from the hallway. It occurs to him that if he actually cared about finding something, he’d turn the light on, but he’s pretty sure that level of attention to detail would probably make this ruse go from tissue paper thin to regular paper thin. “It was barely even a thing,” he says. “He got me a few times, but it didn’t, like, hurt.” 

“You sure?” Tyson says, and before JT can really process what’s happening, Tyson’s grabbing his hand and running his thumb over his knuckles. 

The air drops out of the room, the world stops turning, time freezes, and all JT can do is watch as Tyson slowly examines each finger, looking for bruises. He’s not going to find any, and JT knows it, and he wants to apologize, but— he can’t. He can’t say anything, obviously he can’t, because his brain won’t form words and if he opens his mouth, he’ll just say whatever’s on his mind, and that’s something he doesn’t have the vocabulary for. 

“Oh,” Tyson says, after what feels like a million years. “Glad you’re alright, man.” 

JT nods, and he leaves pretty quickly after that, forgetting about the stupid fake sweater altogether because he can’t stop thinking about things he really, really shouldn’t be thinking about when he’s right next to Tyson. 

…… 

Here’s a lesson JT learns the hard way: you can’t actually control your thoughts. 

Like, you can control how you deal with those thoughts, and you can ignore those thoughts and hope they go away, but sometimes, it just… it doesn’t actually work, and the thoughts end up in your head anyway, and you just gotta deal with them. 

And the thing is, JT doesn’t want to deal with these thoughts, because that sounds annoying, so he mostly— 

He lets them happen. Just, like, has them float in and out of his head like the meditation tapes say, notes them with some variation of, ‘huh, that’s interesting,’ and lets them go on their way. 

Which is a great way to ensure that your thoughts totally consume you, but JT genuinely doesn’t really care, because he feels kind of powerless to stop them anyway, so. He just thinks about fighting, sex, and Tyson, all at the same time, all of the time. 

He tries to focus on the fighting part, because, well— that part’s hockey. It seems like the safest option, really, until he finds himself poring over compilation videos every time he finds himself thinking about Tyson and sex in the same context, and that creates some inconvenient associations. 

The first time JT jerks off to a hockey fight, he’s not really paying attention to it. He’s just casually palming at his dick, because he’s bored and generally horny, and then he doesn’t turn off the video, and he’s not really paying attention to it, but if given the choice, he’d rather it keep playing. 

Afterwards—when he’s cleaning up and trying to figure out what the fuck is up with his brain these days—he comes to the conclusion that he wasn’t jerking off to hockey fights, but he was jerking off to the idea of Tyson jerking off to hockey fights, and happened to channel that into... that. 

JT really needs to get a handle on this. 

…… 

“Hey, Tys, I need to talk to you about something,” JT says, walking into the living room. 

Kerfy’s on the couch with Tyson, which JT hadn’t actually noticed before he walked in. That may be a problem. 

“Sup?” Tyson says, clearly not picking up on the urgency in JT’s voice. 

“It’s, uh.” He glances at Kerf. “It’s private.”

“Can it wait? I don’t wanna miss the movie,” Tyson says.

“We can just pause it,” Kerf says. “Unless this is, like, a whole conversation.”

“Uh.” JT can feel any courage he had rapidly retreating into his body. “You know what? I’ll text you.”

“Got it,” Tyson says, doing that stupid hand gesture that makes JT question all his choices for a second. 

But, whatever, he sends Tyson a text that says,  _ can we meet in ur room later?  _

_ why, did u leave something there again lol _

JT’s face is on fire, but he perseveres.  _ No,  _ he sends, and then,  _ i think we should have sex? _

It’s not eloquent, but it gets the job done, question mark and all. 

From the living room, the TV clicks off, and a second later, Josty’s walking out fast, dragging JT by the hand towards the stairs. 

“So is that a—” 

Tyson cuts him off. “We’re gonna have a conversation about this,” he says, barely glancing back at JT. His voice is sort of intense; like most things about Tyson, it’s very much working for him. “A really short conversation, hopefully, but we’re gonna fucking talk about it.” 

“Alright,” JT says, because he’s probably never going to be able to say no to Tyson ever again. “And then?” 

They’re at Tyson’s room now, so they have to stop walking, and JT finally gets a good look at Tyson’s face. 

It’s a little furious—not in a bad way—and very, very red. 

“We’ll see,” Tyson says, and then he opens the door, yanks JT inside, and slams it shut. 

JT is a little dazed, but he nods, and then just sort of… stands there, awkwardly, as Tyson turns to him, crossing his arms. 

“Okay, I’ve got a few questions.”

JT nods. “Got it.” 

“First is— you better not be making fun of me,” Tyson says. “If you are, that’s a dick move.” 

“I’m… not?” JT says. “How would this be— what?” 

“I don’t know, a few weeks ago, you walked in on me—” Tyson does a jerkoff motion, “And then you—” he punches the air a few times, “And ever since, you’ve been all—” he shrugs, helpless. “You’ve been weird as fuck, and now you’re asking me to have sex?” 

“Well, yeah, but it’s like— it’s all related,” JT says. He’s so glad Josty’s colorblind, because that means there’s a chance he can’t see how hard JT is blushing right now. Not that he can’t get the general vibe of what JT’s going through by everything else about JT’s body language, probably, but still. 

“So that’s why you’ve been all weird lately? Because you wanna…” Tyson holds up two hands to do a gesture, and JT can guess what it’s going to be, but thankfully, he decides against it. “Because you wanna hit this?” He makes a face. “I meant— like, sexually—”

“No, yeah, I got that—”

“Like, hit this as in, tap this ass, not as in—” He does the dorky little air punching thing again, and JT would love it if the floor of Josty’s bedroom could open up and swallow him whole right now, but it doesn’t happen, because JT just can’t catch a break, apparently. 

“It’s not about the fighting thing, it’s just—” 

“Like, we all jerk it to weird stuff sometimes—” 

“I get it, dude.” 

“So you really didn’t have to fight anyone just so I would—” 

“Do you really think I’m that good at planning shit?” JT’s face is probably purple right now. He might also be literally on fire. Like, if someone told him he was actually set ablaze at some point, he genuinely wouldn’t be surprised. “I’ve just been— thinking, for weeks, about you, uh, naked and stuff, and it’s just been making my life a nightmare? So I just feel like if we have sex, it would just— make sense, right?” 

“No, yeah, for sure, just—” 

“For sure?” JT says, feeling hope for the first time in at least 30 seconds. “Does that mean— you wanna?” 

“I— yeah?” Tyson says. “No shit?” 

“Wh—  _ yes  _ shit. This is brand new information.” Seriously, JT doesn’t know how Tyson can stand there and look all confused, like this is something JT should’ve somehow known. Tyson wanting to have sex with him is a big fucking deal, thank you very much. “You could’ve said something, man.” 

“So could you!” 

“I did,” JT says. “I only just— wait. How long have you wanted to—” 

“You’ve been sending me the most  _ mixed  _ fucking signals for the last few weeks,” Tyson says, cutting off JT’s question, which only makes him want an answer even more. “Were you just being weird, or did you actually want—” he gestures to himself. 

“Uh,” JT says. “Yes? I mean— like, both, I think.” 

“You’re so confusing,” Tyson says. “You’re  _ so  _ confusing.” 

“I’m also just confused,” JT says. 

Tyson huffs, arms still crossed, but he doesn’t say anything. 

JT shifts his weight from foot to foot. “So, like, the sex— we thinking yes, no, maybe, or…?” 

“I’m just— I’m trying to figure this out,” Tyson says. 

“Right,” JT says, like he has any semblance of a clue what that means. “Look, I might not have done it on purpose, but I… uh. I wanted you to find it, like, hot, or whatever. When I fought that guy, I mean.” 

Something dark and indiscernible flickers across Tyson’s face. “You did?” 

“Yeah.” JT’s mouth feels a little dry. “And I—” He cuts himself off, because he knows he wants to say something there, but he’s just… 

He’s got no idea what. 

“You?” Tyson prompts. 

JT is at a loss. “I’m also trying to figure this out,” he says. Because now that he thinks about it— there’s a piece of information that’s been missing in all this. JT hates talking about things with people, and he hates showing any signs of vulnerability, and he hates standing here with his mouth hanging open not knowing what to say, but those are things he’s more than willing to do right now. Like, he’s standing here having a super fucking awkward conversation instead of just walking out of the fucking room, which is— 

It’s not his usual style, right? 

And, sure. There’s a pretty solid chance that he’s gonna have sex if he gets through this super fucking awkward conversation, but that wouldn’t be worth it with most people. 

Like. It wouldn’t be worth it with anyone but Tyson. 

Because Tyson is Tyson, right? And JT really, really,  _ really  _ wants to bang him, but he’s also JT’s best friend, which is a big part of all this. Like, wanting to have sex with his best friend, and having it be a little bit because they’re best friends— that’s a whole different  _ thing.  _

And, like. It’s not just a best friends thing. It’s also not just a sex thing. 

It’s maybe the reason this whole ordeal has caused JT to lose control of his life. 

“When I say I think we should have sex,” JT says, “I mean, like, more than once.” 

“Like— how many times?” Tyson asks. 

“What does that— how do you quantify that?” JT asks. 

Tyson shrugs. “Like, do you mean we should do it twice, in case the first time isn’t good? Or—” 

“No, like— I’m saying that we—you and me—” He points between them, in case anyone was confused, “—should become the kind of people who have sex with each other.” 

“So, you mean, we should make it… a thing?” 

“Yeah,” JT says, even though that’s only about 10% of what he means, probably. 

“Alright,” Tyson says, nodding. “Okay, that’s— helpful.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

JT stands there, waiting for Tyson to say  _ something,  _ because as long as it’s silent, JT’s gonna have to think about things. Things like how Tyson had looked at him as he skated off to the penalty box after that fight, or how he really,  _ really  _ wants to know how long Tyson’s been thinking about this, or how Tyson’s been  _ thinking about this  _ and  _ wants this  _ and JT’s half hard at the thought of it, but that’s not even the whole— 

“If we do this— could I be the one to… y’know, like— fuck you?” Tyson asks. 

JT’s brain just— short circuits. 

Apparently his face must show it, because Tyson turns bright red and says, “I mean, not all the time, obviously, but—” 

“Right now?” JT says, and he hates that it comes out as a question, because it feels like that should be more of a request. Maybe even a demand, actually, but that feels a little too strong. 

“If you’re into it,” Tyson says, looking down at his feet.

_ If he’s into it,  _ jesus fucking— “Holy fuck, please kiss me,” JT says. “And then— yeah, but, uh first—” 

“You’re into that?” Tyson asks, and his eyes are wide and dark. They’re also beautiful, but that’s something to think about later.

Right now— well. JT passed the point of being able to have a conversation a while ago. “Please,” he says, and then Tyson’s moving, and he’s moving, and time fast-forwards through the two of them closing the distance between them. 

It’s weird, the split second before their lips touch, because it’s weird kissing someone you already know; it’s weird the split second after their lips touch, too, because both of them are Not Saying a bunch of things, and there’s the weird shakiness that comes with taking a leap of faith and hoping you’re reading things right. But then it gets less weird, because JT needs his mouth on Tyson like his lungs need air, and Tyson’s teeth are under his tongue. 

“After this—” Tyson says, as JT starts to kiss at his neck. “We should, uh, talk more—” 

“We will,” JT murmurs, tugging at the collar of Tyson’s shirt to get to his collarbone. He’s maybe trying to stretch it out on purpose, because he’s got a tiny possessive streak, but Tyson’s not complaining, so JT figures it’s okay. “Fuck me first.” 

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—” 

“Tys,” JT says, cutting him off, “I want you inside me.” He’s not sure how he manages a full sentence, but he’s very impressed with himself. 

Tyson makes a noise. “Jesus fuck, Compher.” 

“Condoms and lube,” JT says. “Where are they?” He really hopes Tyson has them, because he doesn’t want to deal with having to go all the way to his room. Then he’d have to let go of Tyson—which would probably require, like, Herculean strength, straight-up—and go all the way down the hall running at top speed, and he’d probably end up tripping on the carpet and getting a bloody nose. Maybe JT could pretend he got punched in the face, or something. Tyson could be into that.

“By the bed, top drawer,” Tyson says, which means JT won’t have to deal with any of that.

He drags Tyson to the bed while Tyson tries to slip his sweatshirt off, which is a process JT may be trying to sabotage, because he very much wants to be the one taking Tyson’s clothes off.

“Slow down,” Tyson laughs, tangled up in his hoodie, but JT is singularly focused on one thing and one thing only, so he turns around, kisses him firmly, and matter-of-factly finishes pulling off his hoodie for him.

“Okay, yeah, that works too,” Tyson says, and he’s less giggly now, but he still sounds like he’s smiling— still happy, but with this deep, piercing radiance that makes JT understand, momentarily, what it must be like to be sunshine incarnate.

Instead of letting himself think or feel more things, JT pushes Tyson onto the bed and straddles his hips.

“Whoa,” Tyson says. “You’re really sexy when you’re all…” 

“When I’m about to have sex?”

“You’re kind of giving off a ‘give me your dick or I’ll die’ vibe right now,” Tyson says, looking a little entranced. “It works for you.”

“It’s not just a vibe. If you don’t give me your dick, I’ll literally die.”

Tyson’s brow furrows in concern. “Wait, actually?”

JT rolls his eyes. “No, dipshit,” he says, and it comes out a little too fond for his taste, but he kisses Tyson right after he says it, so there’s a chance he doesn’t notice. 

As it turns out, JT and Tyson are really, really good at kissing each other. JT feels a little smug about it, honestly, because, like, of course they are— Tyson’s got his hands all over JT’s everything, and JT’s working as fast as he can to get Tyson’s clothing off, but it feels like there’s way too much fabric between his fingers and Tyson’s skin. 

“Just—” Tyson says, nudging JT off him so he can sit up and pull his shirt over his head. JT does the same, and is mildly proud of himself for not getting his head stuck, or whatever. 

Tyson pulls him into a kiss for the purpose of rolling them over, and suddenly JT is, like,  _ under  _ Tyson, and Tyson is shirtless. That combination makes JT take note of how big Tyson is— an inch shorter than JT, but wider, thicker. JT’s slender where Tyson’s got bulk, and JT can’t help but appreciate his waist and hips and, god, his  _ arms.  _

“Okay, so, how’re we doing this,” Tyson says, standing up from the bed to take off his pants. It’s a little unfair that he’s expecting JT to actually answer a question while he’s wearing even  _ less  _ clothing than he was a few seconds ago, but JT’s never been one to shy away from a challenge.

“You mean, like. Positioning?”

“Yeah,” Tyson says.” Hands and knees, or on your back, or what?”

“On my back?”JT says, without really thinking it over. He doesn’t want to stop looking at Tyson, though, so, like. Obvious answer there. 

They get the rest of their clothing off fast, and there’s a split second where JT feels… weirdly embarrassed, because he’s naked in front of Tyson— which, sure, they’ve been naked around each other plenty, but this is so clearly different. The weird thing about having your dick out around someone else isn’t the fact that your dick is out, it’s the intention behind the dick being out that makes a difference. 

“Do you want a pillow?” Tyson asks.

JT nods, his cheeks going a little red. “Yeah, that’s— probably a good idea.”

Tyson grabs the one that JT’s head isn’t currently resting on, and JT lifts his hips a little so Tyson can slide it under him. It’s a surprisingly intimate moment, vulnerable and mundane in a way that makes this whole thing feel a lot more grounded. The idea of sex with Tyson is all vague flashes of super hot moments, but the reality of sex is always a little more… not awkward, per se, but involves a lot more repositioning than his fantasies.

“Alright,” Tyson says, once the pillow is where it needs to be. He looks a little overwhelmed. “Is this okay?” 

JT adjusts a bit, acutely aware of the fact that Tyson is about to crawl over and brace his arms around JT’s head, and JT is about to spread his legs so Tyson can get between them.

“Yeah,” he says. “So, uh. That lube?”

Tyson nods, but he looks a little overwhelmed. “Yeah, just— one second.”

JT is confused, and he’s about to say sorry for nothing in particular, except apparently  _ one second  _ means  _ can we make out for a few more minutes before we get right to it,  _ and that’s something JT is very on board with.

The kissing helps— it’s head-clearing, lets them get back into the rhythm of things. It’s hot, too, helps alleviate some of the nerves that settle in when JT starts thinking about the mechanics too much. It’s still sex, it’s still exciting and fun and sexy, and all that. 

It doesn’t take them long to get back into it, thankfully. JT almost considers giving Tyson a fistbump, but he decides against it, because he’d much rather have Tyson inside him, which is sort of like the ultimate fistbump.

Tyson works a hand between them, lightly traces around JT’s rim—experimentally, almost—and suddenly, JT is on fire with how badly he wants Tyson’s dick right there, right fucking now.

“Yeah,” JT says, but it’s mostly a gasp. “Fuck, Tys—”

“You ready?”

“ _ Yes,” _ JT says, the word distorted by an array of feelings being caused by Tyson pressing against his hole, the tip of his finger actually _ entering  _ JT.

“Fuck,” Tyson says. “Yeah, okay, let me just—”

He scrambles to get a condom and bottle of lube from the nightstand, which is, thankfully, within reach. He rolls the condom on without much fanfare, then squirts some lube—too much at once, potentially, but it’s not like they won’t use it—onto his palm. Then, he runs the lubed-up hand up and down his shaft once before he very cautiously begins to rub the rest of it over JT’s hole.

JT shivers, feeling the liquid roll over his skin. He spares a thought for the pillowcase, but whatever. Laundry is a thing, and, worst case scenario, Tyson can buy a new pillowcase. They’re rich. There are perks to that. 

Mostly, he’s thinking about how badly he wants Tyson to fuck him. 

He bucks his hips up a bit, hoping Tyson gets the message, and he must, because he blushes and starts to position himself so that his dick is at JT’s rim.

“Ready?” Tyson asks.

“Yeah,” JT says. “Very.” 

It’s a cheesy thing to say, but JT’s filter is kind of off—his mind is focused on one thing only, which is getting fucked—and Tyson doesn’t seem to notice, so whatever, JT isn’t embarrassed that he said it, and he’s only a little embarrassed that he meant it.

Anyway, Tyson is pressing his dick inside of him.

Slowly. 

Like, reasonable levels of slow. Probably the amount of slow that JT needs—it’s been a minute—but the limits of his own body are testing his patience. At the same time, the agony of this is sort of incredible, and with every passing second, JT feels even more full and overwhelmed and split apart. 

“Is this good?” Tyson asks.

“Yeah,” JT says, his voice a little strained. “Really good.” He’s vaguely aware that he sounds like he’s in pain, but he really does love the way this feels. It’s just a lot, is all.

Tyson’s got a very concerned look on his face, like he’s concentrating really hard on not fucking this up. It’s a look JT has seen before, but obviously not in this context— a part of JT wishes Tyson wasn’t being so careful with him. He knows it’s practical, but JT isn’t in a particularly sensible mood right now. This isn’t just about him, though, and he does get where Tyson is coming from, so he doesn’t complain about the pace, just reassures Tyson a billion times that this  _ is  _ good and  _ isn’t  _ too fast and he’s still very into this. 

When Tyson finally bottoms out, JT lets out a long exhale, takes a second to savor the feeling of being full, of having Tyson so fully inside of him. God, this feeling is incredible, and JT would regret that it took them this long to finally do it, if he was capable of regret. 

But again: his capacity for feelings is being maxed out by sex with Tyson Jost, so who gives a fuck about coulda-woulda-shoulda. 

“Still good?” Tyson asks.

JT lets out a huff, half exasperated, half desperate, entirely overwhelmed. “Yes, just— move.”

Tyson looks confused.

“Oh my god,  _ fuck me _ .”

Tyson’s mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, and then his cheeks flush. He begins to pull out a little, still too slow, but it feels like one movement, not the stop-and-start from before, 

JT takes a deep breath, tells himself to be patient and enjoy this, because he kind of likes it, having Tyson set the pace. Even if it’s not perfect, it’s really fucking cool that he can trust Tyson with this kind of thing— this is intimate stuff, right, but it’s the fun part of intimacy. 

Tyson gets into more of a rhythm, eventually. It takes him some time, because he’s apparently the responsible one—not that he’s actually responsible, but these things are relative—but it works out for the best. By the time they’re really into it, JT is so far past the point of ready that it feels like both the fastest and slowest thing in the world, like he wants Tyson to stay inside him forever at the same time he’s fucking him as hard as he can. Which is literally physically impossible, but Tyson finds a happy medium that has JT both overwhelmed and desperate for more, and JT would be impressed, if he had room inside his body for opinions, but Tyson’s dick is taking up most of the metaphorical space in his head, so.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Tyson says. “That cool?”

“Yeah,” JT says. “Fuck, yeah.” He’s not actually present enough in his own brain to make words happen, but he’s still got those two, at least.

Two more thrusts, and then Tyson stutters. He’s all the way inside JT now, and the pause gives JT a chance to take stock of all the physical sensations he hadn’t processed before— the way Tyson’s fingers are tangled in both JT’s fingers and the bedsheet, the satisfied ache in his upper thighs, the fact that Tyson’s sheets are nowhere near the bed. The intensity of everything is blurred together, and JT can’t quite believe that they made so much of a mess together, except he can, because he feels thoroughly, completely fucked.

He’s never seen, or felt, or just, like, experienced anything this hot in his entire fucking life, and the moment he realizes that, he realizes that he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. 

“Shit,” Tyson says—mostly an exhale—as he pulls out of JT. The loss feels weird, but JT is so close that he doesn’t really process it. “Can I—” 

Tyson brushes a thumb over the head of JT’s dick, and JT can’t even say words, just nods frantically, more than a little desperate. 

He’s expecting Tyson’s hand, but he doesn’t complain when he feels something warm and wet on his dick. He’s not sure if he’s heard Tyson say that he gives good head, or if that’s just a fact he’s sort of always assumed, but either way, it’s apparently true. Tyson knows what he’s doing, gets his hand involved quickly and just goes right for  _ fast  _ and  _ tight,  _ which is exactly what JT needs right now, so it’s not long before he’s coming. In Tyson’s  _ mouth.  _

JT is. Probably never going to be the same, ever again. He’s pretty sure he’s been destroyed, and then put back together, and destroyed again, and now he’s just, like, ruined forever. Tyson’s just. Decimated him, and now all JT wants to do is cuddle and maybe hang out forever and then have more sex with him. 

“Nice,” JT says, instead of any of that.

Tyson nods, apparently in agreement that it was, in fact,  _ nice.  _

JT feels like they should maybe do something right now. Like, talk, maybe, or shower, or something? But sex is so tiring, and also messy, and life-changingly good sex is even more tiring and more messy, so. 

“I should clean up,” JT says, rolling off the bed reluctantly. “Cool if I use the bathroom first?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tyson says. He sounds sleepy, which is really unhelpful, because it’s making JT sleepy, and is also way more adorable than it has any right to be. 

JT slips on his boxers and pads down the hallway, a little dazed— he can’t believe that this is the same hallway he walks down every day, or that his bathroom is the same bathroom he uses all the time. He feels like a whole new person, now that all the antsy awkwardness has been fucked out of him. 

It’s pretty chill, honestly. Like, before, he’d been climbing a really tall ladder, but now he’s at the top, standing on a steady platform, looking out over a glorious city, except the ladder is being a fucking mess, and the steady platform at the top is Tyson Jost, and the view of a glorious city is getting absolutely railed by him.

“Bathroom’s yours, if you want it,” JT says, walking back into the bedroom.

Tyson makes a dissatisfied sound. “In a second,” he says, his voice muffled by pillows and even more asleep-sounding than before. “Don’t wanna move.” 

“Clean up now, sleep later,” JT says, shoving him. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Tyson says, his eyes still closed. “I thought you were leaving.”

JT furrows his brow. “I went to clean up, I told you.”

“Thought that was an excuse,” Tyson says.

“Well, all my clothes are here, so.”

“Thought that was an excuse, too,” Tyson says, as JT climbs into the bed. “Like the sweater, but real.”

JT feels his face burn. “Can we not talk about that ever again?”

“Nope,” Tyson says cheerfully, sitting up a little bit. “You woke me up and lied to me so you could brag about your fight.”

“That’s not fair,” JT says. “I woke you up and lied to you because I wanted to fuck you.”

Tyson snorts. “And that was your move?”

“I was playing the long game,” JT says rolling his eyes. “And it worked, clearly.”

“So it was all part of your plan,” Tyson says, turning on his side.

He doesn’t sound serious, but JT can’t really keep up this bit, so he subtly takes a deep breath and searches for whatever scraps of sincerity might be hiding deep down in his mostly nondescript soul.

“Real talk, I didn’t actually have a plan, I just… y’know.” He shrugs. “Liked you, or whatever.” 

Tyson’s face shifts. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” JT says. “So, like, I’m not leaving right now, unless you’re kicking me out—”

“I’m not,” Tyson says quickly. “I just… didn’t know.” 

“Yeah, no shit, that’s why I’m telling you.”

“Well, thanks,” Tyson says. He looks considering for a second. “I like that, I think.”

“Incredible,” JT deadpans. 

“No, like— I’m gonna shower,” Tyson says, and then he just…. lights the fuck up, practically leaping out of the bed with a sudden burst of energy. “So I can get my shit together and figure out what I’m going to say, but then— we should talk.”

“Alright,” JT says, feeling genuinely neutral. He thinks he might have literally given his last fuck, and now he just kinda goes with the flow.

“Like, we  _ should  _ talk, not, y’know, ‘we need to talk,’ because if we talk, and— you, like, like me, or whatever, then I think the conversation is gonna be a good… it’ll be good y’know?”

“I don’t think I understood any part of that,” JT says.

“Just— don’t worry about it,” Tyson says. He’s practically bouncing now, smiling, maybe about to vibrate out of his skin, by the looks of it. “I’ll go take a shower, then I’ll come back, and we’ll— y’know.” He does a combination of shrugs and nods that makes him look like something between a bobble head and one of those inflatable tube guys. “Talk.” 

JT cannot believe that he likes Tyson as much as he does, in this moment, but he’s starting to pick up what Tyson’s putting down, and now he’s got a truly embarrassing smile on too, so. 

“Go shower,” JT says, trying and failing to school his face into something that allows him to maintain a bit of dignity. “You’re gross.”

“ _ You’re _ gross,” Tyson says, giving JT what may be the sappiest smile he’s ever seen. “I hope you didn’t tell me you liked me just to get me to take a shower. That’d be, like, pretty fucked up.”

“Would that even work?”

Tyson grabs a towel off the floor, his face considering. “I think so,” he says, wrapping it around his hips. “Only once, though.”

“You’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?” 

“I do, actually,” Tyson says. “But I’m  _ your  _ weirdo now, so.” 

JT, physically and emotionally, cannot restrain himself from throwing a pillow at Tyson. There’s no other appropriate response to something that cheesy. He simply does what he has to do.

“Okay, okay,” Tyson says, laughing as he halfheartedly tries to dodge the pillow. “I’ll shower fast.” He pauses. “You know I like you back, right?” 

“No, yeah, I got that part,” JT says, even though it actually feels like a revelation, and there’s a tiny glitter volcano currently erupting in his heart. 

“Alright, good,” Tyson says. “Just checking.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm lottswrites on tumblr!


End file.
